The discomfort of being called

Many years ago, I was in Mumbai on a Sunday morning, sitting in a coffee shop somewhere in Juhu, hearing the sound of the sea, and watching a stream of visitors who came, and went. I sat there with a book and before I realized it, a few cups of coffee and a few hours went by, even as the book hardly made any progress reading itself. It expected me to read, and I was obviously not in the mood.

One of the great endeavours of our life is to be present; to be here. All the time-honoured religious, spiritual traditions of the world seek to build this as the most important, underpinning discipline for our distraction-prone mind. In fact, the very invitation of a solitary hour in a coffee shop is to do just that – watch the world go by, as the coffee and the generous smile of the waiter remind you of where you are.

But the problem with being present, is the transient nature of life. As it is with our planet, life is always in transition. From spring to summer, from day to night, success to failure and so on. We are always on the move, always headed somewhere. The experience of this transition is often the defining quality of our life. When one is in love, it is always about what happens between two meetings, between two phone calls, that weaves the delicate fabric of that nascent relationship. How we show up in that transition prepares us for how we show up in the next meeting, and probably, the rest of our life. This is what makes presence such a treasured gift in our lives. We get in touch with it when something overwhelms the prevailing background of our mind -- like a great sunset, a snow-capped mountain, the death of a loved one, or sometimes maybe even an email. As we are snapped out of our drift, we look around, notice the cane upholstery in the chairs of the coffee shop or the discomfort in our body caused by the same chair. And move on.

It is the nature of this transition to always entice us towards something that’s ‘out there’. One could call it a dream, a purpose, a call of duty or simply, the seduction of a discount on something you’ve just realized you want on Amazon. That’s it. Once we are called by something, we cannot turn away. We get in touch with that part of us which wants to belong somewhere. Some place that’s out there, that we can truly call ‘our home’. A place where our voice is heard, and we are wanted for the gifts only we can bring. Creating this longing, this pining for what completes us is perhaps the sinister design of the transition; to keep us on the move with the promise of this grand destination. The more fleeting distractions disappear with time, but some calls keep ringing. Yet, we are terrified to pick them up.

The reason we don’t answer, is always grounded in the compelling truth of the present. We think the call is surreal, like the illusionary golden deer Rama went after, only to regret later. But, there is clarity in the present; black and white. The present is also merciless, and asks us real questions – like bills to be paid, caring for a loved one or your own heart rate etc. We cannot indulge in what might only be a flight of our fantasy – an escape from the harsh realities of the present.

What is equally true about the present is the comfort of the familiar. The familiarity that breeds from the boss who knows how we work, friends who tolerate us or, probably the best of all – a salary which comes on time. So, what is it that really keeps us here? Are we hiding behind a veil of security or are we serving a higher duty?

The ringing call challenges our intellect to discern, and declare what we are going to do.

Move or stay? This is the question that shapes our day.

As we move through life, the ring of the call we haven’t answered gets louder, even as we pace restlessly in the perimeter of the present. The part of us which wants to be heard, that wants to share the gifts it came bearing starts to resonate with that call, making the present more uncomfortable; even if we are in a beautiful coffee shop with a beautiful stranger.

This is the discomfort of being called.

It is the space between the restlessness of the present, and the discomfort of answering the call. This is that feeling of being torn between wanting to step off that cliff, and staying at the edge. It is this discomfort that engenders everything meaningful that we offer to the world. Like a fruit on a tree, we cook in this discomfort, making it the vehicle of our ripening until one day, the tree is ready to drop the fruit.

However, unlike the fruit, we are always flirting with the thread that keeps us here, wishing the thread would get longer, so we can get closer to what calls us, while still staying here. One of our alluring delusions is that we will somehow be able to have an affair with this call, while staying married to our job or whatever it is that keeps us here!

Yet, the essence of a fulfilling career or life, is one where we build a friendship with this call – where the relationship grows as much from what we give, as what we get. A friendship forged through honest and courageous conversations we have with ourselves first, and then with those that matter.

We nurture this friendship with people who share our dream, the ones who become our best friends over time. It is in such company, that we find a shared sweetness of the discomfort. We feel like we belong to a community. Nomads, just like us, seeking and staying. All at once.

And then one day, when we find ourselves in another coffee shop, in another town, we look back at our life and realize how far we have travelled. Perhaps we have abandoned the security at the edge of the cliff or we haven’t. But one thing is certain – we are still being called, and if we are lucky, there is someone we can share it with.

This, is at the heart of my new book that’s launching soon. It’s a work of fiction that follows the journey of two friends, and their immersion in the discomfort of being called.